


You're Just Another ... Fool

by 1f_this_be_madness



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Angry Roger Taylor (Queen), Angst, Band Fic, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Control Issues, Drinking, Drunkenness, F/M, Family Issues, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hugs, Insecure Roger Taylor (Queen), Insecurity, Not super graphic but possibly triggering, Panic, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Platonic Kissing, Protective Brian May, Protectiveness, Relationship Issues, Roger's dad is a waste of space, Self Confidence Issues, Smile (Band) Era, Smoking, Swearing, Sweet, University, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 11:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25969012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1f_this_be_madness/pseuds/1f_this_be_madness
Summary: It's a great night, a good gig, drinks are flowing, people are laughing. A girl is in Roger's lap or on his armBut then he remembers. Of course he just has to remember. And of course it can't be some happy thing; no, well Roger likes a cynical lyric, doesn't he? But this isn't about lyrics. This is life.Why does it have to be so shit, sometimes?(Or, Roger recalls a memory from childhood and deals with effects from it. Luckily he has a friend to help)References to abuse and traumatic experiences. Please see the tags of this piece and take care of yourselves.
Relationships: Brian May & Roger Taylor, Roger Taylor (Queen)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

It's late, after a gig. They'd been piled with praise and plied with drinks and Tim had been tugged out of the main room by some birds, lucky bastard - but they're at a party and Roger cannot be too peeved because he's in his element with a big group sprawling and sitting round, making drinks and playing games and he's made eyes at a very pretty dark girl who's got quite the mouth on her, along with legs for days - and she ends up in his lap with his hands cinching round her waist soon enough.

He ends up tired and buzzing, and he has definitely drunk a helluva lot, and what if he'd gotten sloppy, or mean? That's always a possibility, ensconced in the back of his head, worming its way into his thoughts even as he tries to stuff it, because no, he won't be, he _can't_ be like him. But he's facing her from a different position and he's got his arms thrown out, and there were implications... he suddenly receives a flash of clarity and freezes in place as his eyes bulge. His knuckles go white, his face is pale, eyes terrified. Flickering around like an animal's when cornered, or that's what Roger imagines he looks like. 

Roger doesn't get self-conscious. That's not his style; he has to deal with Bri, tall and lanky and certain he's got spots or too many curls or something else that's unflattering or makes people not want to look at him, that he looks or acts in a manner that's unpleasant or awkward or otherwise wrong. And Roger sighs and rolls his eyes and says "fuck off, Brian" and works on the guitarist with brusque compliments as often as he can, tossing off "get that big spangly arse moving so people'll hafta take note!" Or "the way your fingers move, Jesus Christ Brian" or even shoving Brian forward on the miniscule stages they frequent, leaning into his mic atop the drums and introducing "this is our maestro of an axe master, Brian May". That's what Roger does, what he is used to.

But this time, Brian has to calm him. Of course the guy hadn't been drinking much, and now his fuzzy dark head of huge hair is in Roger's face and he's kneeling down and clapping Roger's shoulder, curling his hand around it gently, rather; he's always so gentle. Roger is suddenly on his feet, it's as if he's missed a span of moments, and he snaps his head back to look up at his tall friend. Grabs then at Brian's hand. "I didn't, oh, Christ. What did I do, Brian?"

All Brian had done was help Roger to his feet, smiling slightly as he stands his shorter friend up and offers with tone a trifle dry "Say goodbye, Rog, come on, you've gotta get up for class tomorrow, yeah, yeah," he adds as the drummer groans. Steadying Rog, Brian is rather puzzled at the vehemence - well, not really that, because it's been a constant ever since they'd met - but Roger hadn't done anything more than his usual, and yet he sounds... horrified. "All you did was pass out a bunch of cigarettes and take some shots, and then you started talking to the girl I found you with," Brian softly says, pats his bandmate on the hand. Girl in question looks over at them, making eyes at Roger. He expects a suave wink or one of Roger's typical responses, as he's effortlessly charming with girls, Brian has no idea how he does it - envies that ease, the ability to be comfortable and make everybody else comfortable; yet this time Rog barely nods, jerking his face down almost into his chest and turning into Brian. Bri wraps an arm around him as people call out to them in farewell, and he really starts to worry as the blond barely offers any acknowledgement of their words.

In fact Rog practically runs out the door, as best as he can run with upwards of four shots of liquor in him; there was a bottle of tequila Brian caught sight of somewhere. He figures Rog may be exiting to vomit, and would understand that if it wasn't for the terror in Roger's voice as he had asked what it was he'd done. "Roger." Brian stretches his legs to match his friend's stumbling strides, catching up and resting his left hand on the other man's lower back. He ducks his head, curls falling forward as his hazel eyes crinkle in confusion, flickering to gaze into Roger's hooded blue ones. "Is there something in particular you think you did...?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And lo, here comes Roger angst... 
> 
> Hello lovely readers, I suppose I'm having a bit of a time of late, and thus have been receiving more angsty inspiration even than I've previously had... But I'm writing about friendship and healing in an attempt to combat the tough times, and Roger and Brian are such wonderful friends.
> 
> I hope you are all as well as you can be.
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger remembers
> 
> Traumatic flashback to verbal and physical abuse described below

Roger swallows, grits his teeth. Shakes his head and clenches one fist, tendons standing out in his arm and hand as he screws his eyes shut for a moment. He'd been back there, cuddling, and then he'd grabbed her, he knows he did, and - 

He stumbles, shoves at the door ahead of them "I've got to get outside, Brian -" His legs shudder underneath the tight trousers he wears, and of course he hadn't worn a thick shirt, he's got an open jacket and that's about it. Sweat is coating, hopefully drying on his chest as it heaves, as he struggles to recall everything about the night. He doesn't want to be out here pouring sweat and not able to handle himself. _Roger, come on,_ Brian is still here standing with him, his cool hand on Roger's back as he tries to think, head pounding in effort. What all had gone on? 

Things, events had gotten fuzzy, and he'd felt warm, which is fine; he's already loud and gets even louder when drinking, but he is so sure that if he drinks too much he'll snap. The loudness will turn away from the light and the fun, and he'll be shouting, snarling, slamming his arms, cinching around -someone's- shaking, shoving, striking -

Roger gasps, sucks in air. His chest tightens as he blinks rapidly and then squeezes his eyes shut, seeing a horrified pair _no_ a woman cowering before him _stop it, Roger, that's not you, you KNOW it isn't you_ and then specky little kid, arms stretching out, trembling legs but stubborn chin, flying hair and flashing eyes. Blue. Bright blue, with perfect tiny teeth in that little mouth too loud for his own good _"Y' wanta say something, you little git?"_ he hears that slurring, snarling tone, and the reply as high as ever it has been when speaking since he first began to.

_"Yeah, I do. Come for me instead, come on."_

"...I - I was just like him," Roger hears himself muttering, and he loses his footing a little, staggering, reaching out to press his palm against the clammy cold bricks of the outer wall. He doesn't know if Brian understands who he's speaking of, he'd mentioned just the once - when he'd been under influence too - and now his eyes rising to his friend's face, Brian's features blurring, how could he be so soft, so weak, so _stupid -_ but of course he is. _"What're you gonna do, pretty little Mama's boy, huh?! Speak up!"_ the slurring tone overtakes him again, and there is a roaring in Roger's ears. Of course. Of course, he can't -

"I'm, I can't do it," Roger gasps, knees buckling completely as he falls. Drops. Cannot brace himself even with those shapely legs, that pretty face, little prissy - his voice is wrecked, almost a sob as he continues "I made an arse of myself back there, Bri." The way he's done since childhood, since that voice boomed at him, little body stretched in front of two others, as though he could help. Stop shite from happening. Hah. He was helpless, as he felt that heavy hand, as it hit and twisted his skin, as he heard his mother screaming, begging, his sister crying...

And that voice, louder from the drink, demanding, scoffing, slurred:

_You, boy? What're YOU going to do?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, poor Rog. I don't pretend to know what he thinks, this is just inference. But from some personal experience, not as severe as what he's alluded to at all, but I can relate to the helplessness, the fury.
> 
> Brian is here though
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	3. Chapter 3

What he's currently done is fallen into a pair of long arms. They're strong, too; from all the guitar work, for sure, and possibly due to hauling massive telescopes around, Roger hadn't ever asked about that, but. 

"Oh, Rogie." Brian presses his lips together and lifts one hand to Roger's round cheek, tracing for an instant the warm soft skin, brushing away traitorous tears that decided to fall. "You're alright," his warm voice soothes. "I'm sure you were fine, you always are. Great, really. You're so good at chatting, and - just being with people, Rog. Can make everyone feel at home, it's...really, it's astounding." The grasp of Brian's arms tightens around him and Roger groans.

"Ughhhhh, sod off," Roger snaps, unable - unwilling - to be comforted with such a compliment. Even as he burrows his face into Brian's shirt and chest, the smoothness of his skin cool against Roger's burning face. "...you're gonna tell me I'm overthinking it, right? 'S what people always say, like I shouldn't be thinking at all. I'm a bloody slag and that's it, yeah?" _Looking good, sweetheart._ Hears the snide words, preceding others that are worse, they always end up worse on people's tongues in darkened bars, with meaty hands and slurring tones that are just like -

He moves to twist away, to drop onto the brick steps, cold and clammy in the dark; or perhaps to just totter on, to run. Except he never really could run. Always had to stay. His stomach whips, almost; roiling so much that he breaks out in more sweat and feels suddenly sick.

But Brian still holds on to him. Brian hangs tight, but gently; Brian bends his long legs to sit beside his friend, easing Roger to a position where the blond is nearly in his lap. Hesitating only a moment before stretching his lengthy, knobbly but elegant fingers and resting his hand gently on the back of Roger's head, stroking the tousled hair that shines like dark gold in the light of surrounding street lamps. His voice trembles "Oh, no, Roger, you're not," he moves his hand to run circles on Roger's shoulders and his back. "You're lovely, really. Warm and bright and quick-witted. And brave." His voice breaks as he bows his face to press his lips close to the back of Roger's neck. "So much braver than I." He swallows, eyes shut as he leans his forehead, the curve of his nose, in his friend's soft locks. Lips are ghosting over Roger's soft skin, thin softness of their own providing comfort as Brian speaks in his sweet voice. "Can you, will you take my word about this?"

Roger trembles. He knows that Bri means those words, because he measures everything, and chooses what he says, and always speaks his truth. Eventually, voice muffled by his hands and knees, as he'd folded down into his best mate's lap like some sort of Jack in the box, the drummer grumbles "...Yeah, probably."

"Probably?" As he cocks his head to the side a bit after that question, Brian moves the fingers of one hand to take hold of Roger's chin, rubbing with the ball of his thumb. "Will you look at me, Rogie?" 

Roger sighs, lashes fluttering open as he obligingly looks up at Brian. He speaks so bloody sweetly, and his gaze is so warm, understanding, open; the sentimental bastard. Yet his tone of voice is firm and brooks no argument as "Stop being so hard on yourself," Brian says. _Please._

Ah, fuck. "Fine," Roger says after they stare each other down. He cannot ask Brian to quit getting down on himself and feeling sorry if he's going to do the same thing, can he? It's absurd, though, how much Bri's whole face brightens, how much he visibly relaxes. He'd been so worried, sweet sod.

"Thank you, Rog."

Now Roger rolls his eyes. "What're you thanking me for, Bri?"

"For agreeing to stop being hard on yourself, at least this time. I... I know how difficult that can be to do. And I know... Well. I don't know, I can only imagine, hardly imagine how - you, what happened with your father, how it creeps into your head. How you can't help but remember. But you know, I hope you know just how wonderful, how strong and good I think you are."

Roger gets a lump in his throat. Bloody hell, but Brian is brilliant. He figures things without Rog needing to say much - or any of it, and that means a helluva lot. He nestles even closer to his friend as he responds, high tone rough from his emotion, yet sober and gentle besides. "Right. Okay. You're welcome, then. And thank you, Brian." 

Roger gazes at his best friend then, eyes saying what he cannot express with words as he lifts himself and when Brian smiles, he kisses his mate on the cheek before coming back in to press himself into Brian, arms cinching around his thin form. Brian rests his own cheek upon Roger's hair, then, and they need now say nothing more. Their closeness is enough. 

It is what binds them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure not everything can be resolved by sweet sincere words and snuggles with a friend, but so many things can be helped by that.
> 
> I hope and wish for you all to be and to have such a friend as Brian and Roger are for one another. And now I'm emotional over these two and their beautiful friendship yet again
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


End file.
